by In All Our Years
I was weeding the other day.
There had been a decision of-
What would stay and what would go.
The decision was sound.
The favoritism logical and strict.
Allowing the life deemed important to be.
Allowing the yank from those who were not so free.
In the fury, of the mindless endeavor,
I caught a glimpse and glance from a small bud
on the less fortunate plant.
My seeping moisture cooling me in the breeze,
as I breathed the air deeply …
I completely stopped and knelt down into the soft
grassy covered earth.
The cloth over my knees,
forever stained with my efforts,
soaked with moisture and soil,
reminding me, that the earth was its home.
The home I many a time carelessly walked across,
day after day.
I breathed again and again and I listened.
As I exhaled my breath, I heard it breath in,
deeply, with joy and passion. I felt the earth smile
and laugh as the aggressive roots of the small plant
stretched and burrowed into its home.
I noticed the length of the plant,
the perfection of it’s tubular body,
the symmetrical placement of a small leaf,
and a small bud, carefully enclosing the
most beautiful bluish-violet flower yet to arrive.
The flower that would be food for the bees.
As I knelt for a while and exchanged
silent conversation with the small plant,
I realized my decision was impaired.
Who was I to make such a call?
While my efforts appeared to be aesthetic
at best, my prejudice of what should be,
sadly mistaken. The small plant excelled
at giving, gladly and without expense,
far less than the extravagance of my needs.
It sipped water and cleansed the air and
held even a drop of moisture to the earth
for others to enjoy, others in need, others
less capable than this plant I deemed,